The Preacher's Daughter (8 page)

S
aturday’s plans were never far from Lorabeth’s thoughts, no matter the task that week. On Thursday morning, Ellie readied the children, and they left them with Sophie Connor for a few hours so they could shop.

“I’ve always appreciated the shops in Newton,” Ellie told her. “They buy for travelers and for the Harvey Girls who have spare cash and eyes for a pretty dress, so there’s always a good selection.”

Eva Kirkpatrick had an assortment of dresses for sale in her shop. “Ellie!” she cried, upon seeing the woman. “You look lovely. And you have a new daughter, I’ve heard.”

“She’s just perfect,” Ellie told her. “Have you met Lorabeth?”

“I don’t believe so.”

Ellie made introductions.

“You’re the reverend’s daughter, then.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Lorabeth needs a dress for this Saturday. Some thing pretty for a social.”

“Are those kids still doing those socials? I remember being that age.” She led the way to racks of clothing along one wall. “You’ll be easy to fit, Lorabeth. You’re a perfect size, and though you’re a little tall, I’ve left the hems out of most of these so they can be custom lengths.

With your coloring, I’d suggest green or yellow. What would you like?”

Lorabeth was in awe of the lovely dresses Eva showed her, one after the other. There were so many to choose from! Time and again her eye was drawn to an ivory taffeta with a high neckline, a gathered yoke bodice and three layers of eyelet at the hem.

“I made this on a whim,” Eva said, taking it out and showing them. “It’s so feminine, isn’t it? This wide sash cinches at the waist. Why don’t you try it on?”

Lorabeth retreated to a curtained-off dressing room and changed clothing. When she returned, Ellie and the dressmaker stared.

“It’s stunning on you,” Miss Kirkpatrick declared.

“Your hair and eyes are accentuated because of the soft color.” She took the sash from Lorabeth and tied it around her waist. “Do you like it?” She turned her toward a full-length mirror.

An unfamiliar woman gazed back at Lorabeth. She looked feminine. She felt special.

“I think she’ll need more besides this one,” Ellie said. “Once the bachelors see her, she’ll have invitations for every weekend evening from here on out.”

Lorabeth blushed at the thought and the flattery. “How much is this one?” she asked.

“This one’s my gift,” Ellie told her. “Now pick out a couple more.”

“I can’t let you do that,” she objected.

“You
will
let me,” Ellie said, and she smiled as though she was thinking of something. “It’s a gift to let you know how much I appreciate you.”

“I already know—”

“No more objections. Find dresses.”

Lorabeth was delighted to obey.

The day became even more interesting when Ellie escorted her to Aunt Tibby’s Tea Parlor. They drank tea from rose-patterned china cups and saucers and ate delicate frosted cakes.

Lorabeth told Ellie about the books she’d been reading, stories that Benjamin had checked out of the public library for her. Ellie listened intently, a smile on her face.

Lorabeth’s thoughts returned to the upcoming weekend, and her stomach fluttered in anticipation. How much more exciting could life get?

Ben didn’t sleep well Friday night. He woke several times with recurring nightmares that left a bad feeling behind. He spent the following afternoon at the house in town. He’d experienced his first taste of family in these rooms, known his first measure of safety and acceptance. Here he clung to the good memories and drew strength and comfort.

It surprised him that Ellie didn’t understand his need to keep this place he thought of as home. But then she had Caleb now, and she had learned security as a couple and a family.

Ben couldn’t let go of this place.

He dressed and arrived at Ellie’s promptly. He let himself in and found Caleb and Ellie in the study. Baby Madeline was sleeping in a bassinet a few feet from where they sat.

Ben strolled over and studied her miniature features. Another child to love and cherish. Another life couldn’t make up for those lost in their childhood, though. He looked up and found Ellie studying him as though she knew what he was thinking.

“She’s beautiful,” he managed through the sheen of tears that blurred his vision.

“Ellie thinks she looks like you,” Caleb said with a grin.

Ellie got up and came forward to lay her hand on his for a moment. When she looked up, the sadness he’d glimpsed was replaced with joy. “I’ll go let Lorabeth know you’re here.”

Several minutes later, Ellie returned with Lorabeth.

Ben couldn’t take his eyes from her, and he couldn’t think of anything to say.

She was the most beautiful and captivating creature he’d ever seen. Her hair, looking soft and shiny, was swept from her face and hung in curls down her back. She wore a soft-looking dress in a color that reminded him of a new duckling, pale yet alive. Her tawny eyes sparkled with excitement.

And…anticipation. Ellie was looking at him, too. Caleb gave him a nearly imperceptible nod.

“You…um…” He stopped and caught himself before he stuttered. “You’re beautiful, Lorabeth.”

She beamed.

Ellie nodded approvingly.

“I’m so nervous,” Lorabeth admitted, and pressed a hand to the sash at her unbelievably narrow waist.

“Nothing to fear,” Ellie told her with a quick squeeze around her shoulders. “You’re lovely and smart and you’ll make lots of new friends in no time. You’ll have all the fellas eating out of your hand.”

Lorabeth’s smile confirmed her unease had been set aside. She turned that heart-stopping gaze on Ben.

“Let’s go,” he said.

“I figured you’d enjoy walking,” he told her as they stepped from the front porch. “The Paytons’ is only about as far as the park.”

“Next time,” she said, “if you want to walk through the park, I’ll go in.”

He regretted his own hesitation that night. She’d led such a sheltered life and it wasn’t fair to withhold simple things from her just to protect himself. “Next time,” he told Lorabeth, “I’ll hold your hand.”

Another promise.

A train rumbled in the distance, and from inside one of the houses they passed a baby cried.

Ben extended his arm and she hooked hers through as they walked. The streets were lit by gas lamps, but the brick walks weren’t perfectly even. It would be no hardship to be a friend to Lorabeth.

They strolled in companionable silence.

“Your sister gave me the dress as a gift,” she told him after a few minutes.

“It’s pretty.”

“She’s a wonderful person.”

“I know.”

“I never knew a family could be so caring.”

“Your father cares for you,” he pointed out. “He made a good home for you all your growing-up years, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he did,” she agreed.

“I’d have traded my childhood for one like yours in an instant,” he told her.

She looked up at him. “What was wrong with your childhood?”

He shook his head, refusing to think back that far, let alone talk about it. “Never mind.”

“I’m sorry to have sounded ungrateful. I didn’t mean to. Everything is so new and exciting, and I don’t have much to compare to.”

“I should warn you,” he said, changing the subject,

“the punch at these shindigs is usually spiked.”

“Spiked?”

“With liquor.”

“Oh! Goodness! Isn’t it wicked to imbibe in spirits?”

“Has some wicked aftereffects, I assure you. I don’t set much store by drinkin’ myself. Makes people do foolish things.”

A buggy passed them, and passengers got out a few houses farther up the street.

“We’re almost there.”

She raised her hand to her hair in a self-conscious gesture.

Bright lights shone from all the downstairs windows, and the tinny sound of music reached them.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“A Victrola.”

“I’ve seen the advertisements, but I’ve never heard one. Do you know the song?”

Ben listened for a moment. “‘Molly Malone.’ It’s an Irish folk song.”

“How do the words go?”

Zeta opened the door of her parents’ home and greeted them, sparing him. “Ben! What a wonderful surprise! And who’s this?”

He introduced Lorabeth.

“Welcome, Lorabeth. Come in and meet the other guests.”

The vivacious redhead drew Lorabeth into a large room where young men and women milled in groups. Benjamin stayed close beside her.

Lorabeth remembered Carrie Bennett and Frances Adler from school. She was introduced to a petite blonde named Jenetta Wisdom, as well as a handful of young men.

Carter Tibbs had wavy russet-colored hair and sparkling dark eyes. The slim young fellow attended church with his parents, so he was familiar, but Hobie Dearborn and Damian Wick were new acquaintances.

She clung to Benjamin’s arm, unwilling to lose her safe connection.

“Where are your parents tonight?” Hobie asked Zeta.

“At the cattleman’s club as usual,” she replied. “Miss Pratt is our chaperone.”

“I think she’s referring to the Paytons’ housekeeper,” Benjamin supplied.

“Frances is apprenticed at the
Newton Kansan,
” Zeta told Lorabeth.

“Oh, I’ve read it,” she answered.

A couple of them laughed as though she’d made a joke.

She glanced at Benjamin. “I have.”

He nodded with a smile.

“Let’s have punch and sandwiches, and then I have some very special parlor games planned,” Zeta suggested.

“What are the games?” Lorabeth asked quietly as they mingled with the crowd around the table in the dining room.

“Charades, guessing games, proverbs, things like that,” he replied.

“I know a lot of proverbs,” she assured him.

He gave her a weak smile.

“Is it liquor?” she asked of the punch.

He dipped a ladle, poured liquid into a small glass cup and tasted it. “Yup.”

She glanced around the room. Studied the huge bowl with orange slices floating on top. Looked at the cup. The liquid was orange and fruity looking. She didn’t intend to disregard her father’s teachings and reflect poorly on him. Surely a sip wouldn’t hurt. She’d promised herself never to hesitate and miss out again. “I’ll have a little taste,” she said.

Without expression he handed her the cup he’d just sipped from.

Lorabeth tasted the cold liquid. It was sweet and fruity and had a little sting that made her nose tickle.

Lightning didn’t strike her dead. “It’s quite refreshing.”

Ben poured himself a cup from a pitcher of lemonade. She asked the question with her eyes and he answered with a shake of his head. Plain lemonade.

Benjamin handed her a plate and she followed him behind the line of guests, selecting a couple of dainty sandwiches. He led her to a long low divan and took her plate so she could adjust her dress to sit. He left and returned with a plate for himself.

Lorabeth was amused by the chatter around her and took pleasure in the playful banter. Her father would be appalled at the frivolous waste of time and money. There wasn’t anything edifying about the evening thus far.

She was loving it.

The hostess strolled past with a tray of full cups, and she traded her empty one for a full one. The second cup of fruity punch was even better than the last.

Benjamin finished eating and took their trays.

“Jenetta will keep track of forfeits this evening,”

Zeta announced.

“What does that mean?” Lorabeth whispered.

“Each time you lose, you add a forfeit to your tally.

At the end of the games you have to pay.”

“With what? I didn’t bring any money.”

“No, you pay with whatever the forfeit is at that time, like a song or a joke. The forfeits are just another part of the games.”

“Oh, I see.”

“We’re moving into my father’s study for the first game,” Zeta said. “It’s all set up.”

The gathering merged down a hall and into a large room lit only by a flickering light. A sheet had been hung to divide the entrance of the room from the fireplace, she realized.

Murmurs and chuckles erupted from the crowd.

“This is a shadow game,” Benjamin supplied.

They all walked around the sheet and took seats on chairs and the floor by the fireside.

“Draw a number,” Zeta said, and passed a bowl of paper slips.

Lorabeth drew seven. Benjamin had twelve.

“Number one!” Carrie called. “Who’s going to start?”

Jenetta jumped up and moved to the back side of the sheet.

Zeta motioned for Frances to get up. The girl took her hair down from its chignon, shook it out and tucked her arms close to her body and walked before the sheet.

Lorabeth realized then that Frances was backlit by the fire and only appeared as a shadow to Jenetta on the other side of the sheet.

“Who is it?” Zeta asked.

“It’s Carrie,” Jenetta guessed.

“No!” the gathering shouted.

“Lorabeth?”

“No!” they cried again.

“One more guess and you take a forfeit,” Zeta called.

“It’s you, Zeta.”

“No!” they cried in unison.

Lorabeth understood the game and that Frances had tried to disguise herself. The next fellow turned up his collar and tucked in his chin, but the guesser recognized him anyway.

“It’s your turn, Lorabeth,” Zeta announced. “Go take the seat.”

Lorabeth walked around the sheet and took her place on the chair. After a few whispers and a thump, two figures loomed on the other side of the cloth. The taller one, obviously a man, leaned over the smaller one until their noses met and their shadows merged. She was so surprised that she slapped a hand to her breast. “Oh, my!”

“What are they doing back here?” Zeta called.

“They’re, um, they’re…” Her neck and face grew uncomfortably warm with embarrassment. “I think they’re having a private moment.”

The girls erupted in giggles.

“One of them is Carrie. Who do you think the other is?”

“Carter?” she asked, trying to recall everyone’s names.

“No!”

“Hobie?”

“No!”

“Damian, then.”